Foresight
by KameTerra
Summary: A terrifying event finally forces Raphael to consider the consequences of his actions—but will it be in time to change anything?
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: _This is the first installment of what will be a short multi-part fic. I've actually had chunks of this written for a long time (I won't even tell you how long, except I began it before I began Bound), and it's about time I worked out the plot snag and brought it to light. Needless to say, I still don't own these characters, or make the slightest profit from torturing them. More's the pity._

_Hope you enjoy it!_

_~KT_

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**_After_**

I couldn't do this. No fucking_ way_ I could do this.

I was more afraid than I'd ever been before, EVER—and that wasn't somethin' I'd normally admit. Even in battle, all I usually felt was cold fury, or hatred, or maybe even simple scorn. An' yeah, sure, if one a' my family members went down, I'd get scared. But this…this was a different sort of feeling altogether, one completely foreign to me. It was like I was bein' squeezed in the tentacles of a giant squid; I could hardly breathe, or swallow, or even function. So completely, intensely scared it almost wasn't recognizable as fear.

Almost.

As I stared down at the apartment window below me, it seemed like the slices of sallow light cutting through the blinds would cut right through _me _if I went down there, leaving me to bleed out and die on the fire escape. God, if only. Death would be preferable to goin' in there, and the slower the better—but I had no choice. I had to do this, and I had to do it _right now_ before the shroud of shock lifted and I lost any chance at coherent speech. Even that thought sliding across my consciousness caused my fragile armor slip a little, allowing reality to penetrate like a shaft of cold air and forcing my breath into shallow, pinching gasps of panic before I managed to evict it.

_She's gotta hear it from __you__…there ain't no way out of this and you know it_._ Better you than the police, and they'll be callin' soon…_

But despite the eerily calm urgings of my inner voice, I just stayed there, frozen in mind and body. Numb, except for the fear.

I couldn't remember the trip here, but I must a' hauled shell cuz I could still feel my lungs burning, mask tails clinging damply to the back of my neck as sweat crawled like columns of spiders down my skin. I'd gotten here fast, all right—maybe too fast, cuz I still didn't have a goddamn clue how to do this and I was runnin' out of time. I couldn't even _think_ the words right now, much less say 'em, so how the hell was I supposed to go through with this? And in spite of the stifling warmth of the night air, I shivered all the way down to my core.

It wasn't makin' it any easier that some part of my mind kept whispering that this wasn't real, that any second I was gonna wake up cursing the side effects of Mikey's late night culinary experiments. I squeezed my eyes shut in desperation, willing myself back to the comfort and security of my hammock, willing this nightmare to give up its hold on me…

But when I reopened my eyes, it was to stare down at the window once again.

_Fuck_.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Before**_

It was hot as a bull's balls out in spite of the lateness of the hour, one a' those muggy summer days when the heat stays locked in by the humidity long after the sun's gone down, an' the air itself feels thick enough to swim through. Even just sittin' here was makin' me clammy with sweat, an' I glanced down at the pizza box sitting next to me on the ledge of the building.

Least dinner wasn't in any danger of gettin' cold.

A couple minutes later Casey showed up, puffing slightly from the final climb to the roof. It was an old hangout of ours, this building, originally chosen for its close proximity to a twenty-four hour liquor store with a night clerk who didn't ask too many questions, an' a decent pizza place that was open late. Good view of the city from this side of the roof. Good place to catch a breeze, too—on any night but this one.

Casey approached, carrying the promised beer an' sweatin' worse than I was. He took a seat on the other side of the pizza. "Hey man," he greeted simply, like it'd been days instead a' weeks since we'd last seen each other.

"Hey." I casually surveyed his appearance as he set the beer down behind the ledge. "You look like shit," I commented finally.

"Fuck you," he retorted, but even in the poor light I could see the curve of a smile on his face. "Still better than lookin' like a giant fucking mutant turtle," he said, handing me a bottle dripping with condensation.

"_Ninja_ turtle," I countered, accepting the bottle. It was wonderfully cold against my palm. Goddamn this was gonna hit the spot.

"That somehow make it okay to be a big ugly brute?"

"Sure. Hell, these days you could slap a black belt on a gorilla, teach 'im some fancy moves, an' he'd reach celebrity status in no time. Just look at Steven Seagal."

Casey gave a bark of laughter. "Guess you got a point there." He pulled out a pocketknife and used the bottle opener to pop the cap on his beer. Then he held the tool out to me.

I held up my hand in a gesture of decline, wordlessly withdrew a sai from my belt, and used the _tsume_, the point of one of the outer prongs, to open my own bottle. My older brother woulda had a shit fit if he'd seen me do that, prob'ly start spoutin' some pretentious bullshit about tainting our sacred weapons by usin' 'em for such a crude purpose, but if you ask me, cracking a cold one on a night like this is at _least_ as noble as hackin' people up.

"Show off," Casey grumbled

I held the weapon up for a moment, twisting it to admire the effect of the light sliding down the steel before replacing it in my belt. I shrugged again. "It's really the only reason I carry 'em. You know, to look cool." I paused. "Ain't gotten me laid yet, though," I added reflectively.

Casey laughed again. "Look man, how many times I gotta tell ya? You ain't my type. I'm more of a chocolate an' roses kinda guy."

Then it was my turn to laugh, probably harder than the comment deserved, but damn it felt good to be out here, just shootin' the shit. I could almost pretend we were kickin' back after another satisfying night a' crackin' skulls, felt so much like old times. But I wasn't quite the same angry teenager. An' Case sure wasn't the same carefree bachelor.

I stared out at the city for a moment, pulling in a deep lungful of air and slowly letting it out again, just taking in the night. Then I considered the sweating bottle in my hand, caught Casey's eye, and wordlessly held it out towards him. He clacked his beer against mine, and we each paused before taking the first satisfying drink, silently toasting what we both knew better than to try an' put into words. It was a ritual of ours, the only one we never skipped or slighted with our usual mocking banter. Whatever dangers we'd been up against, whatever lay ahead, in this moment we were alive, enjoying the simple pleasures of beer and pizza and camaraderie.

If you ask me, it don't get much better than that.

We both got down to the serious business of eating then, but after I'd taken the edge off my hunger with a few slices, I glanced over at him, again noticing his rather haggard appearance. "So, how's the rugrat? Been keepin' ya up some?" I guessed.

"Man," Casey answered with his mouth full, "Tell ya what, all I used to wanna do was stay out all night, and now I can't even tell ya what I'd give to be able to hit the sack at nine o'clock and sleep straight through 'til morning without havin' to change a single diaper."

I laughed at this, at the thought of Casey gettin' outta bed to change diapers. He laughed with me.

"But," he continued after washing down the last mouthful of pizza with a respectable portion of beer, "At least the kid's startin' to get kinda cute now. April's been sendin' you guys pictures, right?"

"Only, like, every hour on the hour." That was true. I think April was tryin' to make up for the fact that we hadn't even been able to meet the newest addition yet—between Casey's mother and April's sister visiting, we'd been staying clear of the apartment. So April had been sending masses of photos via email. Mikey had wanted to do the web cam thing, but Leo had put his foot down, saying it might draw questions from Mrs. Jones.

Casey nodded. "Yeah, I figured. I'm kinda relieved he's filling out an' everything, though. Swear to god, thought maybe one of you guys had pulled a fast one on me when I first saw him—I mean, besides there bein' the right number of fingers and toes and him bein' more red than green, there was some definite mutant potential. April kept gushin' about how beautiful he was, but to be honest it took me a while to see it."

I laughed loudly at this—when other people were blinded by love for their own kids, leave it to Casey to tell it like it was. "I hope you knew better than to say that to April," I said.

"You kiddin'? After fourteen hours of labor? I knew I'd probably screw up no matter what I said, so I just kept my mouth shut the whole time we were at the hospital."

"Good thinkin'." Yup, same ol' Casey, all right… but still… something seemed different. I studied him again out of the corner of my eye, trying to figure out what it was. He looked a bit rough, all right—hollows under his eyes, five o'clock shadow, and something that looked suspiciously like spit-up on one shoulder… but nothin' worse than the morning after a night out with me. So what was it?

"But hey, now that Ma's finally gone, you guys should come and meet him."

"Yeah…" I said slowly. "Mikey's been dyin' to come, but…"

Casey glanced sideways at me. "But what?"

I tried to ignore the sinking, hollow feeling I got in my gut whenever I was reminded of it. "Master Splinter ain't doin' so well," I said heavily, and took a large swallow of beer.

"Still? He just had a cold, right?"

"Started out that way… but he never did shake it, and Don thinks it's progressed to pneumonia now."

"Shit, man... how come you guys never said anything?" he asked, just a hint of accusation in his tone.

"Uh, we figured you guys kinda had your hands full, ya know? Ain't like you coulda done anything about it anyway."

Casey just nodded his head, probably wanting to argue but thinking better of it. And I didn't elaborate on how things were at home—how Don spent all his time in the lab, testing drugs he'd ordered to try and figure out if any might help our father. How Mikey made soups and smoothies and soft nutritious foods in a non-stop cycle, trying to prevent Master Splinter from losing any more weight. How Leo just sat with him, day after day and night after night, reading to him, talking to him, or just meditating—only leaving his side for the bare minimum of training we all did. My older brother had taken to keeping a notebook with him, and writing things down as they talked when Master Splinter felt up to it.

That notebook, more than anything else, scared the shit outta me. Every time I saw it I had to fight the urge to rip it out of my brother's hands and tear it apart. I didn't wanna think about that right now, though, so I drained the rest of my beer and reached for another. This was the first time since Splinter had gotten worse that I'd even so much as gone topside. I think Leo musta known I needed this, needed a break, cuz he'd merely reminded me to take my shell cell an' told me to say hi to Casey.

"Well, when he's feelin' better, you can all come over," Casey said slowly, and when he didn't say anything more, I knew he understood.

I coulda hugged him for that, for not makin' a big deal over it, or askin' a million questions…even for just the _way_ he said it, like there was no question that Master Splinter would be on his feet again soon. Fortunately, neither one of us is the touchy-feely type, so I just nodded, and cleared my throat lightly before saying, "We'll do that."

Then we both went quiet, and as much as I'd wanted a break from it, I couldn't help thinking about my father.

"What's it like, bein' a dad?" I asked abruptly, betraying the silent direction of my thoughts. Besides my own father, Casey was the only one I'd ever be able to ask, even if it was still hard for me to fathom him in that role.

He turned to me, probably trying to gauge how serious I was being. Then he looked thoughtful for a moment before saying, "It's great, man. It's like … it's like being reborn."

There was a beat of silence while I took it in, but then he looked at me out of the corner of his eye and suddenly busted out laughing.

"I'm sorry—god, that sounded corny." He laughed some more, slapping his knee.

I laughed along with him, then, but it was a sham.

Secretly, I hadn't thought it sounded corny at all.

And then I realized what was different about him—despite the ragged edges, the obvious fatigue, the constraints of domestic life, Casey looked… _content_. Happier than I'd even seen him, in fact. It showed in the softening of his eyes when he wasn't focused on anything in particular. An' I hoped that was the way our father had felt, after he took us in. That in spite of the strain, the trouble, the worry we caused, we'd made his life better.

I only wished I'd put more energy into makin' things easier on _him_, instead a' bein' such a pain in the ass all the time.

We sat there then, just drinkin', takin' in the night, neither of us feelin' a need to talk. Practically too hot to talk anyway, an' after a while Casey wordlessly passed me another beer. I was takin' it slow, savoring the taste of the cold beverage along with the rare feeling of relaxation it brought, just kinda spacin' out, when a sharp elbow from Casey snapped me instantly back to reality.

"Looks like trouble," he muttered quietly, casting a meaningful glance at the street below, and at first I didn't get it—which was a pretty good indication of how deep in my own head I'd been, and how badly I'd needed this little outing. All I saw were two drunks, young guys, leanin' on each other for support as they swerved down the otherwise quiet street.

"Just cuz they're drunk don't mean they're trouble," I answered, thinking these guys were more likely to fall over an' hurt themselves than cause any real problems, but Casey shook his head and pointed at somethin' else.

"No, there—behind 'em."

Well shit—that was embarrassing. Here I was supposed to be this badass ninja, an' I hadn't even _seen_ the three guys tailin' 'em in the shadows. I studied them for a moment. It was clear they were following the two drunk guys, and taking pains not to be seen. This area generally wasn't too bad as far as crime went—mainly it was a community of small businesses whose owners couldn't afford the rent in a nicer district, but who'd managed to raise themselves above the squalor of the lower income areas. About ten blocks south was a somewhat more affluent residential neighborhood, and the increased patrolling there probably kept crime down a bit here. But go ten blocks to the north, an' things started to look a bit more scary. This neighborhood was nestled right in between, which meant it could go both ways—an' our drunken friends below apparently didn't get the memo about stickin' to the bars below Hammerstein.

"Easy targets," Casey said. "Those guys are gonna get mugged, for sure… unless someone intervenes…"

I knew exactly what he was gettin' at, and if Casey wasn't with me, I prob'ly woulda taken care of things myself—provided I'd a' spotted it in the first place. But… "We shouldn't, man," I answered slowly. "We promised April."

"I know, I know," Casey said, "But the guys are right there! There's only three of 'em! By the looks of things, we'll be on our way back in under five minutes!"

"Look… how 'bout I go down an' check it out while you keep lookout?" I suggested. Worth a shot, right?

"You mental? That's not the way it works!"

"You gotta kid now, Jones," I said seriously. "Things're different."

"Yeah, I gotta kid now," he shot back, "And I don't want him growin' up in a place where people sit back an' watch while thieves an' assholes run the world!" He stared challengingly at me, and there was no mistaking the old battle light in his eyes. "So come on… Let's go take 'em down, Nightwatcher. One last time."

Dammit, Casey sure knew how to push my buttons—I hated to refuse a fight. And the biggest enemy in my life lately had been one I couldn't sink a fist into. Now, with a couple a' beers in me, beatin' the fuck outta someone who deserved it sounded like just the kinda therapy I needed. And surely, those guys were no match for us.

He saw my resolve beginning to fade, and his expression turned eager as he waited for my response.

Finally I looked at him, and smiled a slow, dark smile.


	3. Chapter 3

_Eek! Sorry for the long delay between updates... If you're fuzzy on where the story left off, I'd suggest going back and skimming the first two chapters-the chronology jumps around a bit (I hope it's not too confusing.) Enjoy! Constructive criticism welcome!_

_~KT_

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**_After_**

Sick with dread and drenched in cold sweat, I forced myself to move and continued down the fire escape, crouching for a second in front of the window and steeling myself for what was to come. _Don't think, just do it—you're outta time!_ I sucked in a breath and rapped gently on the window before sliding it up and pushing the blinds aside to enter the brightly lit kitchen. Once inside I just stood there, gazing around me, and it was as if my mind had suddenly been spliced from my body and I was viewing my surroundings through the viewfinder of a video camera.

Most objects in my view were mundane items to be found in any household, but as my eyes scanned around the room, they were drawn to certain ones as if by magnets. The salt and pepper shakers in the shape of turtles on the kitchen table had been a housewarming gift from Michelangelo, and beneath them was a stack of pizza coupons. I knew without having to look that none of 'em would be expired, and all would be for pizza places endorsed by me an' my brothers at some point in the past. A card propped up against the shakers had a simple typed inscription reading "With Love from the Hamato Clan"—it had arrived with the flowers we'd had sent to the hospital for April. A brightly colored ornamental fan adorned with cranes hung on the wall, a gift brought by Leo from Japan all those years ago when he'd made his journey to see the Ancient One.

My gaze caught and held on other objects as I scanned the room, like someone was controlling my head by remote control and kept hitting the pause button. A clatter of dirty dishes in the sink, today's newspaper on the table with a copy of Cycle World resting on top, an assortment of random tools and a greasy rag on the counter, and a picture on the refrigerator of April in the late stages of pregnancy—she had fallen asleep on the couch with a plate of partially eaten chocolate cake resting on her enormous belly, and Casey had been unable to resist snapping a picture. Other photos, too—all solid echoes of a life that no longer existed.

"Casey? Raph? Is that you?" came April's voice from down the hall.

The sound of her voice broke the spell of my detachment, and reality came swooping back at me like a roller coaster, making my heart roll in my chest, then my stomach along with it until I was sure if I opened my mouth I would throw up. _Oh christ, hold it together, she deserves that much._

"Guys, is that you?" she called again.

And still I had no voice. Footsteps down the short hallway, getting closer… _Just breathe, dammit—in and out! It ain't that hard!_

She saw me before she even reached the kitchen. "Oh, hey Raph, I was just making sure—" Then she halted, her eyes widening as she got a better look at me. Dumbly, I glanced down to see what had diverted her attention, and realized with horror that I hadn't even stopped to try and wash the blood away. It was smeared across the upper portion of my plastron and liberally coating both arms.

Fortunately all of us had shown up bloody enough times that she didn't jump to any conclusions.

"My god, Raph, are you okay?"

"It… it ain't mine," I managed. _Jeezus! Did I really just say that, standing here in her kitchen with __his__ blood all over me?_

I heard her sigh with relief as she approached me, but then her eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. "What kind of trouble did you get into?" It was then she seemed to realize that Casey wasn't with me. "Where's Casey?" she asked, peering at the window behind me. A simple question—no fear in her eyes yet.

When I didn't answer, it must have confirmed her supposition because she balled her hands into fists at her side, eyes glinting dangerously and flames rising in her cheeks. "I don't believe you two!" she hissed from between clenched teeth, her tone low but forceful. "He promised me—you _both_ promised me this wouldn't happen! For god's sake, he can't pull this vigilante shit anymore!"

She was beyond pissed, and I couldn't blame her. I could tell by her face that she wanted to shout, but she was obviously trying to keep her tone low. The baby must have been sleeping.

_Oh god, the baby…_ The thought hit me like a slap across the face—but at least the shock of it served to knock me outta my stupor somewhat.

"Where is he, Raphael? Hiding outside? He can't just hide and hope I'll forget about this, not this time! Get him in here, _right now_!" and she strode angrily towards the window. Before she could reach it, I stepped in front of her and put my hand up slightly to stop her.

"April—"

"Don't even say it, Raph! I don't want to hear you defend him!" She still wasn't looking at me, and I could hear her breath coming in quick, angry pants. All of her attention was focused on the window as she peered around me, trying to catch a glimpse of the husband she thought was cringing outside.

"April," I said again. Something about my tone must have caught her attention, because finally her gaze flicked to me and her breathing slowed a little.

"Listen to me…" Swear to god, I had no clue whose voice that was coming outta my mouth, cuz it sure as hell couldn't a' been mine. No way was I feeling in any way calm or in control, but somehow that voice made it sound like I was both. Now I had her full attention, but she just looked at me blankly, her expression unreadable.

Just then the house phone rang.

We both started at the noise, and she automatically moved towards the phone where it sat in its cradle by the wall.

"Don't answer that!" I said urgently, heading her off before she could reach it. I picked up the phone and instantly hung up on the caller. Then I unplugged the phone line.

"Raph, what the hell!" Now she was glaring at _me._ Then suddenly her eyes moved back to the phone before panning slowly to take in the sight of my bloody hands, putting it together. Finally she looked at my face, and I saw it clearly then—the beginnings of fear seeping slowly into her widening eyes until they reflected a piece of the horror I felt inside. She must have recognized something in _my_ eyes, too, because all remaining color bled out of her face, and her hands began to tremble.

"Raph, where's Casey?" She grasped my forearm with one hand in a claw-like grip, not even reacting to the blood caked there. "Where is he?" she repeated, her voice taking on a pleading tone as she squeezed for emphasis. "Is he hurt?" But even as she asked she must have known—_had_ to've known that I'd never have left him behind if he was hurt, that I woulda called her cell instead of arriving in person if he was hurt bad enough to land himself in the hospital.

I looked straight back at her, and opened my mouth to say the words that would kill her… but I couldn't. They locked up in my throat, and even as I tried to push them through I knew it was no use. I dropped my eyes, and slowly shook my head.

She released her grip on my arm and backed away, shaking her head, trying to deny the meaning of my actions. She remained standing, but her body seemed to go slack, like a wind sock that had lost the breeze. I almost went to her then, but before my muscles could obey she suddenly tensed, and looked at me with eyes as hard as emeralds. And what she said next was the last thing I expected to hear.

"Take me to him," she ordered coldly.

"Wha—?"

"I need to see him—take me to him. Now."

I was stunned. "I…I can't do that."

Her eyes narrowed to razor sharp slits. "Fine. Then tell me where he is. I'll go myself."

It made no sense to me that she wanted to find him, but then again, what did I expect? Fuck, I was barely hangin' on to my _own_ sanity. "April, he's gone, it's no good—,"

"Forget it, I'll find him myself." She wheeled around and bolted towards the door to the apartment.

In a flash I had her by the upper arm, holding her back. She reacted instantly, grabbing my wrist and twisting it as she sent me careening into the door. The impact rattled the picture frames along the wall—I had forgotten how freakishly strong April was, and how well she had learned Master Splinter's lessons.

I knew I couldn't allow her to leave, though. Not in the state she was in now, and the baby on top of that. And stayin' focused on _her_ was the only thing keeping me from getting sucked in to my own tarry black despair. I stood up, blocking the door.

"No," I said as gently as possible.

She approached anyway, and tried to push past me, but I wasn't about to move. She grabbed me by the arm and tried to physically haul me out of the way, and she was strong all right, but not _that_ strong. When she realized it wasn't gonna work I saw her pupils dilate slightly, giving her a wild-eyed look. She threw a punch at me, but I blocked it.

"LET. ME. GO!" she demanded, and when I still didn't move she began raining blows on me, most landing on my arms or my plastron; they had to've hurt _her_ more than me, but she didn't seem to care. I made no move to defend myself—I deserved all of it anyway, so I just let her hit me until eventually she took hold of my shoulders and started shaking me out of sheer frustration. Gradually she lost power, like a wind up toy running out of batteries, and finally her body sagged and she hung her head, shaking hands still gripping my shoulders. She was breathing hard and quivering all over, and even though her hair had come loose and was obscuring most of it, I could see her face scrunching up with the effort of fighting back the pain—her brain not yet willing to accept what her heart already knew.

"I'm sorry, April—Christ, you got no _idea_ how sorry—but I can't let you go."

She let go of me then and stepped back, and instead of grief I saw something very close to hatred raging in her tear-filled eyes. "Fuck you, Raphael. FUCK YOU! How can you stand there and say that to me… _You can't let me go?_" she said scathingly. "Why didn't you say that to HIM, you bastard!"

Her voice broke a little and tears were sliding down her face, but her hard expression didn't change. And I understood—probably better than anyone else could've. As long as she stayed angry, she didn't hafta deal with the rest of it.

"You guys and your stupid fucking testosterone-filled crime fighting act, out there pretending to save the world, playing like you're gods or … or superheroes! Out to prove something!"

She backed up until she was near an end table by the couch, and she grabbed a vase off of it and threw it at me hard. I ducked, and it shattered against the door. The baby started to cry from the bedroom down the hall, but April kept right on yelling. "God DAMN you! Well you sure as hell proved something tonight! One of you wasn't god, or a superhero, or even a ninja. One of you was just a _man_…and a husband, and a f-father!"

She choked on the last word and her face twisted with pain, but her anger wasn't spent yet. Next she grabbed a lamp off the same end table, yanked the cord out of the wall, and with a sob she threw that at me too. The effort sent her sprawling to the ground as the lamp crashed against the wall, and she collapsed in a heap, exhausted and, by the sound of it, ready to hyperventilate.

I was afraid that any move I made would be the wrong one, so I just stood there. As I watched helplessly, she pulled her knees under, pressed her fisted hands into her stomach, and leaned forward like she was trying to collapse into herself. Then she began rocking herself and uttering strangled, painful sounding noises—like she wanted to cry, but couldn't, it hurt that much.

And I couldn't stand it, couldn't stand seeing her like that, so ignoring the warning in my heart I knelt in front of her and tentatively reached out, gently touching her arm. Instantly she knocked my hand away. "Don't you fucking t-touch me," she said in a choked voice, and one look at her face convinced me she meant it. I woulda given anything to be able to take some of her pain away. _Anything_. But I couldn't—not right now, probably not ever. So I did the only thing that made any sense and simply let her be.

Standing slowly, I backed away until my shell bumped into the door again, and felt that even death was too good for me. I knew she blamed me, and I understood that need to lash out at someone, even if it was irrational. But she couldn't have known how true her accusation was.

_I could have stopped him._

Next thing I knew I was on my knees, and through a thick mental fog I could hear the sounds of two very different kinds of anguish—one new and helpless and heartbreakingly innocent, the other jaded and desperate and bitter, sharp as the pieces of glass under my leg. I shifted sideways to stare down at what was left of the vase, and suddenly it seemed very important that I fix it. I began scrabbling around on the floor, picking up the pieces, moving them around and trying to match up the edges, wanting to put them back together. I could glue it … I could find a way to fix it… it would be okay, if I could just do that then everything would be fine.

I manipulated the shards with shaking hands, flipping them this way and that, pushing them together on the floor like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, and it wasn't until I saw them becoming streaked with red that I realized I must have cut myself. I kept at it anyway, trying to assemble them, but it only grew more difficult as the shards became slippery, so red and _so_ slippery, and I started to get frustrated when they wouldn't cooperate, because I knew they had fit together before, somehow, and all the pieces were right there…

Then I blinked and stared uncomprehendingly at the pile of rubble in front of me—shapeless, jagged, newly painted in crimson—a grotesque caricature of the perfect object it had been—and I couldn't understand why it didn't look like it was supposed to, why it couldn't be a vase anymore.

_Oh god, why hadn't I stopped him_?


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: _Sorry again for the long delay! Life is hectic for the foreseeable future, (this is FUPB, First Update Post-Baby) so I can't promise I'll be any swifter with updates, but I can promise I won't abandon this story. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

_**Before**_

"Yo, Earth to Raph! Let's go, man, dudes are gonna get away!"

I blinked and shook my head, disoriented and drenched in an icy curtain of sweat that made me shiver in spite of the balmy night. My heart pounded in my chest, so loud that I swear ta god anyone standing next to me would a' heard it.

"RAPH!" Casey called over his shoulder. "C'mon, man! What the hell's wrong with ya?"

I stood rooted to the spot, feeling weak and dry-mouthed. I didn't answer—couldn't answer. Hell, could barely _breathe_. What the _fuck_ was going on here?

Casey slowed when he saw I wasn't following, and as he got a better look at me, he halted and turned to face me, and his eyes squinted. "Hey, you okay? Look like you've seen a ghost or somethin'."

_I'm looking at one right now_.

He was dead; I knew he was dead—I could still see his eyes staring sightlessly as I cradled his broken body in my arms, my mouth moving constantly, though at the time I was unaware of what I was saying. _Jesus god no don't you fucking die you bastard, don't you fucking leave me, just breathe, okay? Just BREATHE!_

He was DEAD! …So how the hell was he standing here in front of me? My mind scrambled wildly, trying to make sense of it. Then I looked down at my arms, turning my hands over to study both sides.

No blood.

Could it have been just a, a nightmare? A seizure, or a weird hallucinogenic episode, something Donny could give me a perfectly reasonable explanation for? Maybe I just imagined the whole horrifying thing…

Maybe.

Or maybe _this_ was a hallucination, a product of my traumatized mind. Maybe I was still sitting on the floor in April's apartment, staring and drooling like a lobotomized mental patient while my mind took a leave of absence from a reality I didn't wanna deal with. The whole thing had been _so real_—the baby crying, that cold look in her eyes…

I shuddered again and shook my head, trying to clear of it the memory.

Casey had taken a couple of steps closer to me. "Raph?" he said tentatively, his forehead furrowed in concern.

"I'm okay," I croaked, then I cleared my throat, and willed the beating of my heart to slow. "I just, uh… I just had kind of an… epiphany."

If Casey looked confused before, he was completely lost now. "A what?"

_Breathe, in and out. _"I was just, uh, thinkin' we should, uh, come up with a plan. Yannow. Before we just jump into this."

"A _plan_? I thought the plan was to open up a can of whoop-ass on these guys."

Well he had me there; that _was_ usually the extent of our planning. Thinking fast, I said, "Yeah, but I think I know where they're headed." I beckoned him closer and crouched down, withdrawing a sai. I used to point to begin sketching out a diagram in the gravel of the rooftop, and Casey let out a resigned breath and came to stand over me.

"Okay, but make it quick," he said.

I drew a couple more lines and an arrow, and then I straightened. Casey glanced down at my masterpiece, and then up, watching me expectantly.

By now my heart had slowed considerably, but I was still freezing cold, inside and out. Still, I knew what I had to do. "Right. Here's the plan," I said. And with no outward warning, I punched him in the jaw. In the instant before I connected, he understood, and his eyes widened, but it was too late—

Casey Jones didn't go down easy, but when he did, he went down hard.

I'm sure Leo could tell you the name of the pressure point I hit, just above the angle of the human jaw, but I didn't fucking care what it was called. All I cared about was that when you hit it just right, the person was out cold—an' I'd spent many a fine night fine tuning my skill, learning just the right force and placement to knock someone out on the first shot.

I still didn't know which "reality" was the real one, but I desperately wanted it to be the one in which my friend was still alive. And goddamn it, whether this was real or not, no matter what happened, I was gonna make sure he _stayed_ alive.

"The plan is this," I continued, more composed now that I knew he wasn't goin' anywhere. "You're sittin' this one out, Buddy."

Casey was gonna be pissed that I'd hit him, and April was gonna be pissed when he came home lookin' like he'd been in a brawl, but I didn't give a fuck. Better bruised than in a body bag. I rolled him over and checked his pulse, just to be sure. Strong, steady, but out cold, and likely to stay that way for a little while at least. Just to be sure, though, I withdrew a length of cord from my pouch, and twisted it around his ankles. He'd be able to get out of it, but not until it was too late to catch up with me. Then I put the pizza box under his head, leaned a cold-ish bottle of beer against his jaw, and took off in the direction of the would-be muggers.

Only in my book, they weren't just small-time thieves… they were murderers. As I closed in on them, leaping across rooftops, all of my recent fear and anxiety was channeled into something darker. _This_ was something I knew how to deal with.


End file.
